Scorpion Prince
by PenguinofProse
Summary: Written for the the ISWC. Wizarding royalty AU. Scorpius is fed up of being a prince, and thinks his grandparents need to learn a thing or two about the world beyond their palace. Implied Scorrose.


Story Title/Link: Scorpion Prince

School and Theme: Hogwarts: Number Four Privet Drive

Special Rule: Write an AU you have never written before. This is an AU where Wizarding Britain is ruled by monarchs, and the Malfoys are of course that royal family. For too long, they have grown used to their own wealth and importance.

Main Prompt: Extravagance

Additional Prompts: Emerald Green, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy

Year: Four

Wordcount: 2610

Scorpius Malfoy was a walking cliche, and he knew it. He was a Prince who didn't believe in Princes, the only grandson of the King, yet horrified at the thought that he should ever take the throne. He wasn't deluding himself here–he was perfectly willing to admit that the trappings of royalty had some good points. The food was delicious, apart from anything else, and he had never had to wear hand-me-down robes. But he had come to realise, during the course of his childhood, that all of this monarch lark was a bit _much_. No one family needed a house that oversized, or a staff that numerous, or an income that plentiful. There were other people, surely, other causes, who had much more need of that money than Lucius Malfoy. Scorpius wasn't entirely sure who might have the greatest claim on the cash, just yet. He was only seventeen, and he was still getting his political priorities straight. But all in all, he had decided that no single family could possibly need as much wealth and power as his own held so carelessly in the palms of their hands.

He liked to think he differed from most walking cliches, though, in that he intended to do something about the situation. Of course, he'd been _intending_ to do something about the situation for a while now without any great progress. He'd been broadly thinking that perhaps something could be done ever since he went to Hogwarts and met Albus, and started to realise that there were other actual people in the universe beyond the Malfoys. And other creatures, besides, who often got it even worse than the humans. But he'd certainly been _intending_ in quite an active sense ever since he got to know Rose, who was a fan of shouting informed opinions across classrooms, and who spent the school holidays lurking in the corridors outside her mother's office and petitioning people to recognise the rights of transgender witches and wizards. And he had to admit that he kept slipping up a bit, kept falling into the attractive trap of spending his pocket money on presents for his two whole friends rather than donations to the Centaur Recognition Movement. It was just too tempting to see the look on Rose's face when he presented her with a recycled notebook and a set of pencils adorned with quotes from her favourite books.

But now he could feel it—his intention was about to be fulfilled. He was at the palace for Christmas and could think of no better opportunity to make a stand. He wasn't intending to make a particularly loud or violent stand, of course. That wasn't really his style. There would be no burning the building to the ground, no slashing the emerald green Malfoy banners that adorned every damn wall. He thought that a little reasoned argument might be the thing. He still wasn't exactly what one might call a _confident_ young man, but he liked to think that he was capable of stating his case.

Well, he thought that until he actually tried to do it.

He'd been thinking about it for weeks, of course, trying to pick his moment, wondering how to go about broaching the topic with his grandparents without causing a scene in front of the entire palace. And he had decided, in the end, that the obvious thing to do was to present them with some suitably non-excessive gifts in the privacy of their own quarters. With only his father as an additional audience he could suggest that, perhaps, the family might reconsider whether they needed to spend _quite_ so much on festive extravagance in future.

But then, of course, he actually arrived into their quarters. Opened the actual door, took in the actual carpet and the actual walls—all in the same hideous shade of emerald green that, if he was being honest, he'd had nightmares about since he was a small child. It had always made him feel like he was entombed in the stomach of a snake. Of course, he knew now that snakes were not green on the _inside_, but all the same, the feeling lingered.

And it wasn't just the colour, either. It was everything about this room, from the clutter of ornaments and riches littering the walls, crammed into so many cabinets and dressers that the place looked like an outlet branch of Borgin and Burke's, to the King and Queen themselves—Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, sitting on their matching thrones and looking down their noses at everyone who entered, even their own son and grandson. He'd never really understood that, the way that they were capable of being so cold even towards their family. Sure, Draco wasn't the warmest father in the world, but Scorpius at least knew that he _cared_. But Lucius and Narcissa didn't care much about anyone, as far as he could tell. He'd heard that his grandmother had once cared enough about his father to let Harry Potter win the Wizarding War, but he could scarcely credit it. The woman didn't even seem to care about her own _husband_, which Scorpius found frankly baffling. Sure, the two of them were absolutely devoted to each other, were always publicly supportive and very much on the same page. But he couldn't help but feel that loyalty without affection belonged in an army, not a marriage.

By the time Scorpius actually took his seat–an ornate chair, naturally, with an emerald green velvet cushion–he was quivering with nerves. And that seemed a bit silly, really, because he could play Quidditch now and everything. There was no reason to be shaking just because the power couple from Hell was staring him down.

He looked to his dad, wondering whether he might find a little support there. And, to his surprise, Draco gave a slight nod and something that was almost a smile.

Well, then. It was time to begin.

"Grandpa Lucius, Your Majesty." It was, all things considered, an odd title. "Please do accept this Christmas gift."

"Not yet, boy." Lucius brushed him aside, stirring the air with a careless gesture of his hand. "Let the elves bring in some refreshments first. A little bite to eat, Draco? You'll be wanting a Butterbeer, I suppose, child?"

"No, thank you, Grandpa, Sir," Scorpius demurred carefully. He had, in fact, eaten almost his own body weight in roast goose not half an hour ago, and washed it down with enough Butterbeer to float a small fleet.

Lucius frowned at him for that, but did not force the point. And, sure enough, a multitude of house elves arrived, bearing platter upon platter of dinky sandwiches and artistically small cakes. It was, Scorpius thought, a bit more than _a little bite to eat_. It seemed to him that the table now held, if nothing else, _many_ little bites to eat. It seemed to him, furthermore, that his father was frowning at the spread almost as much as he was, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Well, now, Scorpius." He jumped at the sound of his actual name on his grandmother's lips. "I suppose you can give us our gifts now."

"Thank you, Grandma, Ma'am." He leapt up and hurried towards the thrones, falling over his own feet a little and hoping that no one noticed, thrusting the carefully wrapped parcels towards his grandparents with frantic haste. "Merry Christmas."

He watched, trying very hard not to vomit, while they unwrapped their presents. He was pretty sure that vomiting in the King and Queen's private chambers was a bad idea. Apart from anything else, he thought that the colour would probably clash with that damn snake-guts carpet.

And then they _had_ unwrapped their gifts, and the urge to vomit grew only stronger. Lucius was frowning down at the book in his hand with a face like thunder, and Narcissa was squinting at the scarf on her lap as if deeply confused.

"I think he chose very well," Draco commented mildly, and Scorpius found himself sorely tempted to faint in shock. His father really did seem to be working on this whole _caring_ thing, he noted.

"Did he?" Narcissa picked up the scarf by a corner, shook it out across her knees experimentally. "This garment appears to be _pink_. And it's certainly not from Madam Malkin's, and she has been the robe-maker to the Royal Family for centuries."

"Erm, no. No, it's not from Madam Malkin's," Scorpius agreed, with a rising tide of panic. The scarf was, he thought, the _safer_ of the two items. So if this had gone wrong–well, then, there was no telling how badly the book might go down.

"Why is it not green?" She asked, confused.

"Because it's–it's special," Scorpius opted to say in the end, feeling woefully inadequate. "It's made by a charity that gives jobs to house-elves who've had accidents at work, lost a hand or something, and can't serve in big houses any more. So they make scarves and sell them."

Narcissa now looked horrified, holding the precious scarf out at arm's length. "You mean to say that this–this _thing_–was made by a _crippled elf_?"

"Mother, dear. I believe the more modern term would be an elf with a disability," Draco soothed, "and I think that the pink will suit you nicely, if you give it a try, for a change."

"I don't like change," Lucius muttered darkly, still frowning at his book, "and I do not like books about changes in the wizarding legal system. That Granger woman has been nothing but a damn nuisance, I'm telling you, eroding our power by the day. At this rate, you'll be lucky to have a kingdom left by the time you inherit, boy."

Scorpius took a deep breath. He had been rehearsing for this moment for months, and he would not let himself down now.

"Do you not think that might be for the best, Grandpa, Sir?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you not think it might be for the best if there wasn't a kingdom by the time I inherit?"

Lucius choked a little on nothing, and Scorpius took that as his cue to continue.

"I just–do you not think that all of this is a bit _excessive_? All of the luxury, and all of the wastefulness? There are other people and creatures in the Wizarding World who live such hard lives, while we're living like this. That seems a little unfair when we're not even democratically elected. You know, a large part of the Muggle Queen's role in the modern world is to do charity work, and I think—"

"I have no interest in learning about the _Muggle Queen,_" Lucius interrupted firmly, "and I have no interest in listening to you spout this–this—"

"Socialism?" Scorpius suggested quietly.

"Another foolish Muggle idea, no doubt!" Narcissa screamed a little hysterically.

"What on Earth is the matter with you, boy?" Lucius was growing redder by the moment as he spat in the general direction of his heirs. "I'd heard you were sweet on that Weasley girl, but this is taking it to a whole new—"

"I think you'll find that she's a _Granger-_Weasley." Indignation on her behalf gave Scorpius the strength to interrupt. "I'm pleased I've met people like her who have helped me to understand what the real world is like _out there_, beyond this ridiculous, cluttered, green palace and these ridiculous _little bites to eat_!"

"That is quite enough!" Lucius decided, getting to his feet of his own free will for the first time in as long as Scorpius could remember. "If that is how you feel about the palace, you will get out."

"And you will not return," Narcissa added, sticking to her husband's party line as always.

"And you will be disinherited!" Lucius concluded with quiet menace.

"I understand." Scorpius stood, aware that he was probably supposed to feel disappointed or at the very least a little sad. But he had never truly thought that it would be easy to change his grandparents' ways, so his expectations had been low. And, if anything, he was actually feeling rather proud of himself for making his point.

He walked towards the door, opened it carefully, then went to close it again but realised that his father was standing in the doorway.

Lucius appeared to have realised the same thing. "Where are you going, Draco?"

"Home, with my son."

"But you must stay." Confusion did not suit the King, Scorpius felt.

"I don't think so. I think I must stay with my son. I understand that love for one's family is a concept you have often struggled with, Your Majesty, but I know my priorities. Good evening." Without further ado, Draco stepped across the threshold and closed the door with excessive force.

"Did you just slam the door at the King and Queen of Wizarding Britain?" Scorpius asked, suddenly certain that he had never had such respect for his father as he had in this moment.

"Yes. I do believe I did."

There was a heartbeat of pained silence, and then the pair of them erupted with laughter, hugging each other unusually close in the hideous green-striped corridor.

"Come on, son. Let's get out of here. This place has always freaked me out—It reminds me of a giant snake, you know?"

Scorpius felt his jaw hit the floor at that. He hadn't realised that he actually had things in common with his father, besides his surname and the colour of his hair. He hadn't realised they actually had the same thoughts or anything.

"I've always thought that, too," he said, as they started walking down the corridor.

Draco turned and caught his eye, smiling hesitantly. "I'm proud of you, son. I don't agree with all of these things you come out with, but I'm proud of you for saying them all the same. You're much braver than I have ever been."

"Thanks, Dad."

"And don't worry about them disinheriting you. Only I could do that, and I have no intention of doing so. Perhaps we might avoid this place for a bit, though?" He asked, as they finally reached the door and escaped into blessed fresh air.

"I think that might be wise," Scorpius agreed, wandering towards the point where the wards ended, and they could Apparate.

"You should send Rose an owl when we get home," Draco suggested thoughtfully, "I'm sure she'd like to hear that you just criticised the King and Queen to their faces."

"I'm sure she'd like to hear that my dad slammed the door on them. You never know, Ron Weasley might even speak to you one day."

Draco threw back his head and laughed. This had never happened before, to the best of Scorpius' knowledge, and he rather found himself panicking for a moment until he decided that it was, perhaps, a day for unusual developments.

"Don't worry about your grandparents, Scorpius," Draco recommended when he had regained control of his vocal chords. "I won't say that they'll come around, because they won't. But they don't like anyone, so it's no great loss that they've decided they don't like you."

"I'm not even sure they like each other."

"But they do respect each other, I think. And that's more respect than they've got for anyone else."

Yes, Scorpius thought. That seemed to be the issue. Maybe, if he had realised that, his father wouldn't be such a bad King after all, when the time came. And maybe, if he'd played some small part in his father's realisation, he might have fulfilled his intention to _do something about it_ after all.


End file.
